Notices to Correspondents.

Meta. The vow referred to in Acts xviii. 18 was taken by S. Paul. H. E. D. We could not use the music you have kindly sent with the Hymn,” and we think the words ought not to be separated from the air. Accepted: "Faith in the Holy Trinity;" "S. John Baptist;" "S. Mary Magdalene."

"There was the pouting rose, both red and white,
The flaming heart's-ease, flush'd with purple light,.
The lady lily, looking gently down,

Pure lavender to lay in bridal gown.

And midst the flowers turf'd round beneath a shade

Of circling pines, a babbling fountain play'd;

And through their shafts you saw the water bright

Which through the darksome tops glimmer'd with showering light."

LEIGH HUNT.

THE Château de Senlecq is built in a very picturesque situation, close beside, and overlooking the river Meuse. It is a long white building, many-windowed, with a red-capped tourelle at each of the four angles; the trim old garden with its square-cut walks, rows of orange trees, and fountains, comes down nearly to the water's edge; behind, and on either side the château, more gardens extend, with a long, covered rosewalk, orchards, and woods: at its foot runs the calm river, sweeping past in a gentle curve, and mirroring in its clear depths the grand bare rocks opposite that here rise straight up almost from the water, shutting out all the world around. It seems the abode of perfect peace and retirement. But Senlecq requires sunlight, and a fair sky above for its perfection, and so when Luce Vanheegue saw it for the first time, it was not looking its best.

It was a grey autumn day, with a rainy, sad-coloured sky; there had been a good deal of rain, and the clouds lay thick and dark behind the masses of rock which rose up grandly against them-sometimes suddenly touched by the quick gleams of light that broke over the land

scape; the woods behind the château hung dim and wet, and the day was fast waning into night.

The old Comtesse de Senlecq was standing by the window of a salon in the château, watching, listening, and waiting; below, ran the road by the river-side, and then it turned up to the right, past the courtyard of the château; beyond it, the grey river-full with the recent rains— flowed swift and silently; she could hear the autumn wind whispering among the tall rushes along its brink, but beyond that, there was no sound, except now and then footsteps, falling heavily upon the soft road, of some peasant passing home from his work to the little village of Senlecq half a mile away.

She was listening for the sound of carriage wheels in the courtyard, and the barking of the château dogs; she had opened the window in her nervous anxiety to hear, and stood there a strong stately old lady with a tremulousness breaking now and then over the calm of her face. Her son had parted from her an hour ago to meet his affianced bride, who, with her sister, was coming to spend a week at Senlecq. How Madame de Senlecq had been reconciled to her son's betrothal to the daughter of Monsieur Vanheegue, the fabricateur, nobody knew. Perhaps her love for her son had over-mastered her pride or possibly perceiving that "what needs be must be," she had given a graceful acquiescence in time; that had been a month ago, when her son went to Nieuport-les-bains, and now she was waiting to see her future daughter-in-law.

Mother, I have but one great desire,” Adrien had said before he left, "and that is, that you will love her, and take her to your heart at once-I know I need hardly ask it."

Of course, Adrien, I shall love her for your sake, and I hope afterwards for her own," answered Madame de Senlecq rather stiffly.

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Oh, you are sure to love one another when you become really acquainted, only I mean," said Adrien, hesitatingly, "that she has been used to much love, and she is so young—we shall both of us seem such old people to her, mother! and she might fancy that she would feel a little lonely in this great house at first; you know she is so young," he added again tenderly.

'Well? it is not the first time that young brides have been brought to Senlecq, I suppose, Adrien; I myself was very young when your father brought me here, and they have usually, I believe, led happy and contented lives," said his mother, drawing herself up. "Of course,

to one desiring the gaieties and frivolities of the world, it might seem dull, but to those occupying themselves in quiet and useful employments proper to women of whatever station in life, it is not so, and such has been the character of the women of our family."

Adrien smiled in the fulness of his heart.

"Ah, mother! when you know my Luce, you will say that worldliness and frivolities are the last things to be mentioned together with her name."

"I am glad to hear it, Adrien; however, remember that persons about to be married generally see things in a very rose-coloured light; our poor human hearts are but too prone to idolatry," she added, with a sigh.

Monsieur de Senlecq did not say any more; he felt chilled and disappointed, and though he was a brave-hearted little man, and made it his rule in going through life to put a cheerful face upon everything, it was not with an altogether unclouded joy as he had expected, that he went forth to meet her who had become at last in such a wonderful, unexpected way, his betrothed bride.

The old Comtesse was troubled when he had gone. She sent away Mademoiselle Louise, when that poor woman's presence had become unbearable to her, and then paced restlessly through the room, finally taking up her watch at the window in the waning light: her face grew more calm and soft, the fading daylight touched it with a tender gleam; the memories of old days were stirring in her heart-the memory most of all, of her little daughter, dead long years ago, and thoughts of what she might have been if she had lived; and now her son was bringing her another daughter whom she had yet to learn to love. She was sorry now that she had spoken hardly to Adrien, letting her latent opposition get the better of her. Doubtless, this marriage would be a bitter trial for her pride, and yet it was not altogether pride, it was more the result of education, and of prejudices, and hers was a kindly nature, albeit a narrow one. But Madame de Senlecq was not one of those who give their love—the best gift we have to bestowhoping for nothing again, and in this she was far below her son. gave it tenderly, but she was also jealous for its return, and exacting in the deference paid by the object of it to her wishes. Her son had put these, although gently, upon one side, and had supplanted her in his heart at the same time; it was natural that she should feel a little sore. Yet through these conflicting feelings, the kindlier thoughts got the

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uppermost place, and so when the carriage wheels were heard at last, she turned to meet Luce with much more warmth than her son had dared to hope for.

It was like a dream to Luce, as they turned through the great gates into the dark court yard, her sister and the Comte beside her, and the house rising up grimly white before them; lights flitted out, gleaming through the wet, the dogs set up a noisy welcome, and the rain which had begun again, was sweeping in soft drifts against the walls.

It was a little melancholy, and depressing; Monsieur de Senlecq too was rather silent during the drive, Stephanie only kept up a lively talk which one at least of the other two felt to be a relief.

The light in the hall was dazzling coming out of the darkness; there were people standing about, and then a stately lady with keen eyes came forward; Luce, looking tall and very pale in her dark travelling dress and furs, came timidly to meet her with a deep curtsey, but Madame de Senlecq folded her in her arms, and Luce saw the tremor of emotion in her face, and felt her own timidity and fearfulness melt away in that caress. She thought that she should love Madame de Senlecq.

The next day was fair and bright, so that they could sit in the little summer-house, built upon a slight rising ground in the garden, and watch the river gurgling past in the sunshine.

Madame de Senlecq sat there with her netting-the broad convolvulus leaves that hung over the trellis casting light shadows over the delicate face; Stephanie, sparkling and jubilant at the accomplishment of all her ambitious dreams was but too openly obsequious to the old Comtesse, who seemed to like Luce a good deal the best. Luce, in her broad white hat was sketching at the door of the pavilion, and Monsieur de Senlecq lounged outside, blissful happiness expressed upon his round face.

Yes, it seemed that Stephanie Dambricourt's scheming was successful, as schemers often are in this world, who, so far, "have their reward;" but did she think as she sat enjoying her own triumph, of the life that she had made unhappy? did she remember Philip O'Hara's look of woe, as he stood before her that day, when she had taken that glib untruth upon her lips, or of her sister's suffering of disappointment, unspoken and deep-hidden-though not so well but that Stephanie perfectly knew of it?

Perhaps she did not choose to think upon these things; it must take